


Leap faster than your fear

by blessshea



Series: All your flaws and scars are mine [1]
Category: Rosewood (TV)
Genre: "adult" language, F/M, M/M, Season 3 AU, because I'm glutton for punishment apparently, drags self off soapbox, i have no idea...again, let me have this one thing ok?, look ok....they like each other and they're both dumbasses, sorry not sorry but they have so much damn chemistry, sort of introspective?, the slowest burn on earth because they have Issues ok, uhhhh, underhanded flirting?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-28 11:20:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10830216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blessshea/pseuds/blessshea
Summary: Ira gets distracted on the practice range and has a conversation with Slade.





	Leap faster than your fear

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are my life force, my life raft for this ship is lonely. Love me. (please) 
> 
> (Also, I KNOW I said the girls would be in the next one last time but that's proving harder than I anticipated, HOWEVER, muse allowing they'll be in #2 briefly and I'm planning on number #3 to be from TMI's perspective sooooo)

Wearing earplugs meant the sound of the spent shells hitting the concrete didn’t make a noise but Ira still felt satisfied as he watched the bullets roll around on the ground. His hand throbbed and he pursed his lips, glaring at the offending limb. Sure he hadn’t gotten shot through the hand but the graze had still been enough to cause over a month’s worth of pain in the ass bullshit.

This was week three of what had started off as two weeks of the “wrap it and be careful” Dr.’s order; the first two weeks they’d spent following leads to track down Marcos while dealing with Internal Affairs coming in for Annalise. The mere thought of the smug, self absorbed in-house investigator made him point the gun down range and squeeze out four more rounds. The team cornered Marcos in an abandoned brewery in Tampa and he’d done a number on his hand in the process, he wasn’t sure who’d yelled at him more that night, the doctor, Slade, or Daisie.

Yanking out the earplugs he admitted defeat to an empty room. With all this shit rolling around in his head he didn’t need to be pointing a loaded weapon anywhere. He emptied the chamber of the next round and dropped out the clip, releasing the remaining bullets and fiercely ignored his still twinging hand. He’d been ordered to wear a soft cast for two additional weeks after they’d caught Marcos and he was counting down the days until it came off.

Villa was finally back in the city. Rosie had spent 12 hours in stubborn denial before he’d hopped on a plane and flew to L.A. to try and get her to come back. He’d woken up to a voicemail from Pippy saying Rosie had texted and said they had gotten back at midnight. Just in time to see the I.A. investigation wrap up, and learn whether or not Villa would get her badge back. Just in time to deal with the pending trial for Marcos.

He pulled out a bottle of aspirin from his pocket and dry swallowed a handful, knowing if Daisie even saw him flinch at dinner later she’d feel worse than she already did, one kid in jail, the other possibly about to lose her job. It was the most amicable breakup he’d had since Martha, and he’d known she was going to do it the minute she’d picked him up from the hospital in Tampa. The Glock pieced back together quick and he shoved it into it’s carrying case before he smashed the button that carried the paper target forward.

“You’re not supposed to be straining your hand like that.”

His fingers were grazing the swaying paper as he felt Slade brush against him, then gently push him back as he stepped forward and unattached the target.

“I.A. felt the need to interview me for the 5th time.” Slade was holding the target up, assumingly to examine the bullet holes but his voice made it clear that he’d rather not have to deal with the book wielding, micro managers again anytime soon. Slade yawned, hidden behind the large paper and for what was the millionth time that week Ira wondered if the man was sleeping in his office. No matter what time Ira arrived at for the past week Slade was already in the building. “You shoot this with your left hand?”

His face was visible now, and he offered the target back with a small smile on his face. For a second they stood in silence and then Ira nodded as he rolled up the target. “Obviously.” he said as he secured the paper with rubber bands.”This fucking thing needs to come off next week or I’m going to lose my mind.”

Their eyes met as he slung his range bag over his shoulder and he watched as Slade seemed to falter a bit as they moved together towards the exit. 

“I’ll see you tomorr--” 

Slade’s blue linen sports jacket felt warm as he reached forward with his good hand and snatched a handful, stopping the slightly taller man from leaving out the double doors.

“No way I’m letting you go anywhere when you look like a kicked puppy.” He tightened his fist in Slade’s jacket and watched a faint blush crawl underneath the salt and pepper beard. “If what you’re about to say is that you’re fine, I’m going to punch you in the face, again.”

The dimples came out in full force as Slade chuckled and Ira felt the familiar thrill of being the reason behind them. “I thought you were having dinner with Daisie?”

“I am. Well now, we are.” He ignored the chill up his spine when their eyes connected again and gripped the jacket tighter. “She’s going to need to get her head around what’s coming with the trial and Marcos. You should come, it would help.” 

A sigh escaped Slade’s lips but he nodded and rubbed his beard. “I suppose if I don’t agree you’re just going to make me.” Slade said pointedly, looking down at handful of jacket he still had hold of.

The completely unsubtle reminder of what he’d said over a month ago made Ira laugh while Slade shrugged, the earlier blush still stained across his cheeks.

“Damn right.” He said, letting go of the jacket to push a door open. “You still owe me a beer, we can stop on the way.”


End file.
